The Illusion of Negative Images
by RZZMG
Summary: Obsessed and in love, Rabastan Alastair Lestrange would do absolutely anything to secure his former Defence Barrister, Hermione Granger, in his bed... and everyone knows how persuasive Slytherins can be. Can Hermione resist the temptation the tall, dark, sexy wizard offers when a Marriage Lottery pairs them up? Drama-Romance-Hot Shagging-Light Comedy! 2012 HP-PornInTheSun entry.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**This was my 2012 HP Porn In The Sun (hp-porninthesun . livejournal . com) entry. The fest is over and reveals are out, so now I can post this for you here. ****This fanfic is finished. I will post a new chapter up every week until it's done.**

**My recipient for the fic exchange was: **_roadkill2580_

**Here were her prompts that I worked from: **_Marriage Law, snark, teasing, bondage, rough sex, dub con, lots of sex in general, some semblance of a plot, UST (just a bit)._

**A gigantic thank you goes out to my betas, Unseenlibrarian and Ladysashi, who were wonderful enough to read this monster of a fic and beta it for me in record time. Thank you to the HP_PornInTheSun Fest mods for running this wonderful fest!**

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**DISCLAIMER:**"Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**TIMELINE:** Post-Hogwarts, EWE (2004).

**MAIN CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name):** Hermione Granger, Rabastan Lestrange

SECONDARY CHARACTERS FEATURES (alphabetical order, last name): Susan Bones, Millicent Bulstrode, Gregory Goyle, Astoria Greengrass, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley

**SUMMARY:** She'd defended him before the entire Wizengamot and won him his freedom, but Rabastan Alastair Lestrange wasn't a man to be so easily forgotten post-trial... and he would do _absolutely anything _to secure his former Defence Barrister, Hermione Granger, in his bed. Can Hermione resist the temptation the tall, dark wizard offers when a Marriage Lottery pairs them up? Or, will their pasts haunt them both, destroying this chance at happiness before it can even take root?

**RATING: **NC-17 (MA)

**WARNINGS:** Explicit heterosexual sexual situations, explicit profanity, alcohol consumption, pregnancy, marriage troubles.

**EXTRA NOTES:** For the sake of this fic, Rabastan was born in May 1962 (there is a 17-year difference between him and Hermione). "Ral" is pronounced, "Raul". The first wedding anniversary gift given by husbands to wives (and vice-versa) is traditionally a paper product, at least in Western culture. _Mobile Vulgas_ = Latin for "the fickle crowd," from which the modern word 'mob' derives. A Silk = Senior legal advocates conferred by the Crown, nicknamed such for their wearing of silken gowns. The position is by appointment only from within the legal profession and generally based on merit, not years of experience.

**IMAGES TO GO ALONG WITH THIS FANFICTION (remove all spaces to make URL load properly):** _s905 . photobucket . albums/ac260/RZZMG/The%20Illusion%20of%20Negative%20Images/_

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**_THE ILLUSION OF NEGATIVE IMAGES (ALTERNATIVELY, "OLD PHOTOGRAPHS")_**

**BY RZZMG**

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**o.o.o.o.o**

Hermione unrolled the standard-sized, cream-coloured parchment for the third time in as many minutes, praying that she was merely misinterpreting the information contained therein. Perhaps one too many all-night Jane Austen reading marathons had simply strained her eyesight. Her mum had always warned her that poor reading light could lead to astigmatism. Maybe that's all this was - a case of finally needing glasses.

As the paper was opened, revealing the contents once more, she despaired at the knowledge that a trip to a Muggle optician wouldn't cure this particular problem.

The magical photograph of Rabastan Lestrange still appeared in the centre of the page between her hands. He continued to smirk at her in that smarmy, infuriating way he always had. His black and white impression even tossed her a naughty wink.

Bloody buggering hell.

"I've been told that paper is traditional for the first gift," her new fiancé stated, sounding entirely too smug for her soured mood just then. "Well, then you can just consider this my present to you, kitten. You're welcome."

She crumpled the image in a tight fist. "I can't believe this," she hissed under her breath at him. "Of all the wizards participating in this event, how is it possible that I drew _your_ scroll? The odds were... Gah! I can't stand you!"

He chuckled. "Now, now, love. I'm fairly certain that isn't true."

"Oh, it most definitely is," she bickered, letting her waspish temper find its intended target without reserve. "You ruined my relationship with Ron."

The tall, dark-haired, sexy nightmare that had haunted her doorstep for the last year and a half simply smirked. "As if you can call that juvenile farce a proper relationship. The two of you weren't even together when we... Besides, I was merely a bystander to that inevitable train wreck."

She turned and openly gaped at him, uncaring of the awkward silence that had fallen over the rather large crowd of wizards and witches spread out before them. "An innocent bystander?" she hissed. "Is that what you tell yourself to get to sleep at night, _Ral?__"_

To her disappointment, rather than flinch at the childhood nickname that his older brother had christened him, Rabastan Lestrange turned his wicked baby blues onto her and had the audacity to toss her his most sinful, devastating grin - the one that never failed to make her heart patter faster and her blood pressure rise to dangerous levels. "I never said I was innocent, darling. That was _your_ big claim to fame for me, remember?"

"Don't remind me," she groused, glancing stage left at the small group of witches and wizards gathered behind the _Muffled_ curtain, hidden from the crowd, waiting their turn for fickle fate to choose a partner for them.

There was Susan Bones smiling sympathetically at her, and trying to cheer her. Nearby the witch stood the Carrow twins, who chatted up a storm with the refined beauty, Astoria Greengrass and the shy Eleanor Branstone. A nervous Millicent Bulstrode was at their side, but she was silent, peeking glances at a similarly restrained Gregory Goyle directly opposite her. The hulking former Slytherin was predictably hanging out with his infamous friend, Draco Malfoy, who was engaged in a conversation with Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Adrian Pucey. Behind them stood Evan Rosier III, the second oldest of the bunch, who by association alone - his father had been a Death Eater - had been condemned with the rest in the public court.

This group - Hermione and Ral included - were part of the first of the Marriage Lottery candidates, selected mostly for the sensationalism (infamy, in some cases) of their individual reputations, she suspected. They were to launch the volunteer program, designed to reconcile a still-broken country post-war and to launch a new era of peace.

She almost snorted at the thought. Peace with Ral within an arm's length from her was not very likely. The man had a way of heating her blood to dangerous levels.

"Don't remind you?" he bit, his tone dark and dripping with devilish intent. "Oh, but perhaps that's just what you need, Hermione. A very _vivid_ reminder."

Moving in for the kill, he wrapped both brawny arms around her and pulled her into his embrace.

"Don't you dare!" she warned in a panicked tone, trying to squirm out of his hold.

"Stop me if you can," he challenged, and slammed his mouth down upon hers, taking their first kiss in slightly over a year without her permission and in front of an entire audience of interested on-lookers.

The expected eruption of outraged gasps, amazed whistles, and tiny smattering of amused clapping crashed and melded with the burst of hundreds of excited voices wildly speculating on the meaning of the kiss, filling the auditorium with an oppressive amount of noise. Did this kiss signal something clandestine between she and the younger Lestrange brother, or was the former dark wizard-turned-Dumbledore's spy merely provoking a heroine of the war in an attempt to get even with her? The room was abuzz with these questions and more.

Several flashbulbs went off, too, to capture the moment for posterity's sake, nearly blinding her at the same time. Great, tonight she would appear in the evening paper, most likely under some ridiculously scandalous headline about easily succumbing to a former "bad boy" Death Eater's seduction or other such ridiculous hype. Just what she wanted.

She forced her hands between them to try to push Ral away, but his tongue peeked through the closed seam of her lips at just that moment, forcing her mouth open, and the touch of that soft, pink appendage stroking across hers again made her go still. It also made things low in her belly clench with an all-too-familiar and consuming need.

Godric help her, she was going to murder Ral in his sleep. Slowly. With a hand-knitted scarf!

Crimson with mortification, Hermione shoved her partner away, breaking their lip lock. He fell back a few steps, smirking, licking his lips.

"You'll pay for that," she vowed in a hissing whisper as he took a firm grip of her elbow and guided them towards the other end of the stage, where the curtain was pulled aside to allow them an exit.

"I've no doubt," Rabastan cheerfully announced. "Later, though. Come along now, kitten. It's about time we got this over with."

From the front row, Ginny waved up at her, giving her a commiserating wince. "Chin up, 'Mione!" she called out. "Gryffindor brave!"

The rest of the Weasleys and Harry also added their less-than-enthusiastic, but loyal encouragement as she passed by them, situated as they all were in the front rows of the auditorium that the Ministry had rented out for today's special occasion. All except Ron. He glared daggers at Ral as they hurried by, and resolutely refused to look at her, dropping his hurt gaze to the floor as she attempted to meet his eye.

Hermione's conscience gave a small tug of regret. She didn't blame Ron for his resentment, even though they hadn't been together in twelve months. Yes, she could understand why he was still so very bitter, and this situation surely hadn't made things any easier for him.

After all, it wasn't every day you watched the woman you loved marry the man responsible for stealing her away from you.

**o.o.o.o.o**

The minute the red curtain fell back into place behind them and they were shielded from the crowd, Hermione hauled back and slapped her new fiancé across his scruffy, bearded face. His head turned with the blow, but he made no move to retaliate. In fact, all he did was smirk, as if he'd expected her attack.

Too bad she'd restrained her initial impulse to knee him in the groin. He wouldn't look so irritatingly smug after that sort of a shock, she was sure. Then again, damaging her would-be husband's gonads before the "I do's" were said might be construed as a passive-aggressive rebellion against Minister Shacklebolt himself. After all, it had been Kingsley's mad plan to reunify wizarding Britain by marrying off its single witches to former Voldemort sympathizers and loyalists. That kind of defiant indiscretion just wouldn't do... at least not for someone with her eye on the Minister's seat in the future.

"I love it when you unsheathe your claws, love," her ill-fated fiancé murmured, rubbing the side of his cheek where her hand print burned red and hot under his whiskers. "Best thing about you is your spirit, I've always said."

He said that last while grinning like a fecking idiot.

She frowned at him.

Why wasn't he more upset about their situation? In a few minutes they were going to be married by the Deputy Minister. As in, legally bound to be husband and wife. Considering the fact that Ral had openly admitted to being allergic to commitment a year ago when they'd... well, why wasn't he putting up more of a fuss?

Sure, the money for agreeing to participate in the Marriage Lottery was quite the enticement. Half a million Galleons per couple had certainly proved too much a temptation for some of the more destitute or avaricious witches and wizards in Britain to resist. They'd received such a flood of applications they had had to stage the Lottery out in three phases over the next year, with Hermione's group being the first candidates to draw names. Truthfully, the amount offered had been enough to lure her in as the first volunteer, as visions of being able to fund her favourite charities that suffered from budget cuts danced in her head.

And yes, being guaranteed a job for at least a year at the Ministry was a definite bonus, too, as work was increasingly hard to come by in post-war Britain. Since Kingsley had taken the reins, and the Office for Budget Responsibility revealed that the war had almost bankrupted the government, the new Minister had been forced to downsize and revamp department internal policies, and there had been a lot of eliminated positions as a result. A hiring freeze had been established and hadn't yet been lifted. People were clamouring for jobs and so it was no small thing that such an inducement was included in the Marriage Lottery program. Hermione, personally, intended to use the change to apply for a position as a Silk within the Wizengamot.

Also, the idea of outright owning a newly-built cottage in the lovely village of Winkfield in Berkshire definitely appealed to the homesteader within all Britons, especially since purchasing wizarding real estate in England was generally rather expensive and fairly difficult to procure. Hermione was tired of living in a flat in the heart of noisy, dirty London, honestly, and the idea of living in her own home in the quiet, restful country was just added sweet for her tea.

But Ral needed none of those things, as the Lestrange family was as filthy rich as the Malfoys - even after the Ministry's war reparations had been levied against them and paid - and they owned their own ancestral Manor house just outside of Bristol. He didn't need a job either, because he invested his money in international ventures, at least according to _The Prophet's_ business column.

So why had he volunteered to take the Ministry's deal if they'd had nothing of interest to offer him?

**o.o.o.o.o**

"I am," Ral gave the clear, strong reply to the Deputy Ministry's question regarding him being lawfully free to marry.

Hermione's pulse roared through her veins, and rushed through her ears. She couldn't believe she'd been talked into this madness. What had she been thinking?

A light caress brushed across the back of her fingers as it lay against the crook of her intended's arm. It jerked her back into the present, and as she glanced up, she met her fiancé's sharp gaze staring down at her in a silent warning.

The registrar cleared his throat. "Miss Granger?"

She blinked, confused, her gaze switching between the man at her side and the man before her and back again. "I-I'm sorry, can you repeat the question?"

Ral mouth became a flat line and his eyelids hooded like a serpent's, indicating his displeasure with her inattentiveness during such a sacrosanct moment.

"Are you, Hermione Jean Granger, lawfully free to marry Rabastan Alastair Lestrange?"

She took a deep breath.

The Remus Lupin Memorial Lycanthropy Research Fund and the Merfolk Rights League were both on the brink of going under and desperately needed the infusion of gold that would come from her marriage to Rabastan. If those organizations folded, the petitions to change the official Ministry status of werewolves and merfolk both from 'magical creature' to 'magical being' would most likely lose momentum. If that happened, both groups could continue to be hunted down like animals by trophy hunters or lynched by the _mobile vulgas_, rather than afforded the same legal protection under the law as human wizards and witches. No matter what the newspapers touted, it was for those reasons, and not the propagandized 'reunification' call-to-arms, that she'd agreed to participate in Shacklebolt's plan.

_For them,_ Hermione determined.

At least, that's what she told herself when she straightened her spine, raised her chin, and replied, "I am." A little voice in the back of her head, however, declared her a fibber, reminding her of how good it had been for those few seconds on stage this afternoon to be in Ral's arms again.

**o.o.o.o.o**

The Victorian-style wedding ring her new husband procured from an inner robe pocket was simply stunning, obviously an heirloom, and perfect to her taste in jewellery. It wasn't too large, nor too small a declaration. It was feminine, with a touch of boldness, but arranged in such a way as to not be too flashy and obnoxious. Made of a purer karat of gold - eighteen, perhaps - and delicately banded, it flared out into a full-blooming flower design on top. The center stone was at least a three karat, round, natural blue diamond, and it was surrounded by six, smaller, perfectly rounded white diamonds of sparkling clarity.

"My grandmother's," he murmured to her, as he slipped it onto her left ring finger. "And her grandmother's before her."

"It's beautiful," Hermione rasped, feeling her throat begin to close as terror crept through her.

He produced a plain matching man's wedding band and handed it to her, indicating that she should slip it onto his ring finger, per tradition. She did, feeling the sweat bead atop her lip. Gods, she was really doing this, wasn't she? She was really marrying Ral - the man she'd fought tooth-and-nail to keep out of her fantasies and out of her bed for the last year, refusing to acknowledge her persistent desire for him despite the space she'd intentionally put between them.

Well, tonight he'd be in both, and there would be no more refusals.

His warm hands cupped her smaller ones between them and the ring suddenly felt very heavy as it took its rightful place. "No fear, kitten," he whispered, as he leaned forward to perform the perfunctory kiss, sealing their bargain. "Not from you. Not ever. Only this between us."

She shut her eyes tight and bit back a whimper as his lips touched down.

Their first kiss as husband and wife was a sweet melding of mouths, tender and a bit hesitant on his side. There was no blatant lust or anger behind it, but rather a gentleness that spoke of wishes and promises. It felt like every first kiss should.

Except it wasn't technically their first kiss, nor even their second or third. More like their hundredth.

After it had been revealed that the younger Lestrange brother had turned spy for Dumbledore during the last war, and had consequently been acquitted of all of his past war crimes, Ral had made winning over his defence representative - _her_ - his first order of business as a newly freed man. He'd been ruthless about it too, capturing Hermione's mouth at every opportunity. Eventually those kisses had led to more...

...and she'd lost Ron as a result.

Right, so technically she and her long-time boyfriend hadn't been officially dating during that time period - _"taking a break,"_ Ron had called it - but seeing your rainy-day-girl locked in a passionate embrace with a former Death Eater tended to kill any chance at resuming a relationship. He had called them permanently quits twelve months ago, after a half-dozen years of an on-again, off-again affair, and he hadn't spoken to her directly since.

Losing Ron as a boyfriend hadn't hurt as much as she'd thought it would, but losing him as a friend had cut into the very heart of her. She'd been mourning that loss ever since.

And she'd made Ral pay for it, even though he was right and it hadn't been his fault.

The guilt ate away at her from both ends.

"There are some signatures we'll need from you both to make it official," the Deputy Minister announced as Rabastan's mouth disengaged from hers. "If you'll just follow the Undersecretary."

Hermione followed on auto-pilot, her heels loud against the hollow, wooden stage beneath them. Her step matched Percy Weasley's as he guided them towards a door at the back of the theatre entrance. Behind her, Kingsley was speaking to the crowd and introducing the next witch to volunteer for the Marriage Accords program: Susan. Hermione wondered what her boss had offered her friend to get her to participate. What enticement had it taken for the witch who had lost nearly everything between the last two Wizarding Wars to agree to let one of the few "redeemable" Death Eaters become her spouse? She hoped the woman was paired with a man who would respect her and be gentle with her.

Ral's hand smoothed over her shoulder as he stepped up to her side, and his touch distracted her thoughts. He pressed them close together as they walked and she noticed that she still fit perfectly against his side; their strides matched, despite him being longer of leg, and her forehead pressed right against the underside of his jaw, putting her lips at the level of his throat's pulse.

A flash memory of having sunk her teeth into the lightly bronzed flesh right at that point had her skin prickling and a shiver racing up her spine.

"All right, love?"

She didn't look at him when she nodded. Couldn't, afraid that he'd see the desire in her eyes and on her cheeks.

He rubbed his palm up and down her arm to warm her. "Can't wait to get me alone, hmm?"

Her cheeks burned with mortification. "Did you know that I'm simply dying to try out this new Castration Hex I recently invented?"

His answering chuckle rumbled through his chest.

When they came to the door, Percy opened it for them and Ral stepped behind her to allow her to go first, behaving with an odd chivalry that she hadn't expected of him. She tossed him a suspicious glance, and he smirked in amusement.

"Now, we just have the General Registry Office's paperwork to finish up, and then I can take you to your new home," Percy informed them, guiding them over to a desk that had been set-up for today's event.

"Perfect," Ral chimed in, his straight, white grin stretching from ear-to-ear. "Let's get to it then, shall we? I'm eager to get inside."

The double _entendre_ was intentional. Ral's sense of humour had always bordered on rakish and sexually crude innuendo. Hermione threw her new husband a narrow-eyed warning as he held her chair out for her, tucking her in.

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_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Please review and let me know what you think! This is my first time shipping this couple.**


	2. Chapter 2

They were escorted by Percy to their new home in Berkshire immediately after the ink had dried on their marriage certificate. Wasting no time, as he still had six other marriages to get through that afternoon and evening, he'd dropped the keys to the cottage into Hermione's hands, reminded her of the perfunctory clause in the program that at least one child had to be born of the union within five years or the house would be forfeit and the galleons deposited into their new joint bank account at Gringotts would have to be repaid, and wished the new couple the best of luck as he Disapparated away.

"Not much for the whole touchy-feely, that one," Ral snarked as Percy's crimson hair swirled into the ether.

Hermione didn't reply. She couldn't find her voice, quite honestly. She was too busy staring at her new home with a sense of awe and shock.

It was a cottage right out of a storybook - her greatest dream come true. There were two distinct buildings, one with a rounded architecture, the other rectangular. They were connected in the middle by an enclosed rectangular hallway. The entire structure was made of old world brick in a beige and brown motif, and Tudor windows with cream-coloured trim tastefully dotted the facing. The rounded building had a thatched roof, a double chimney stack for the kitchen, and was two stories high. The other building had the typical shingle-style roof, one large chimney - clearly for the Floo - and was only one floor. The cottage was situated on a large, open plot that had been tastefully decorated with trees, shrubbery, and flowering creeper vines. A hinged wooden gate separated the property from the cobbled street outside.

There, in the lower-most window of the rounded building, Crookshanks sat, staring out at her. The King of All He Surveyed was lightly wagging his fluffy, orange tail, letting her know he approved of the new digs.

Tears pricked her eyes.

"I, um, took the liberty of having the contents of your entire flat moved here already," her companion explained. "And then to hire an interior decorator to piece it all together, adding whatever she wanted from my Manor to fill-in the rest. Of course, I did that only after your cat had decided the place a good fit."

"When? How? Why?" she stammered, her brain moving too fast for her mouth to catch up.

Ral held the little gate open for her, indicating she could step through into the yard. "This morning, when you were at the Potters, psyching yourself out for today's event."

She moved past him, and up the cobbled path towards the front door, drawn forward like a child upon her first visit to the candy shoppe. She stopped to admire the climbing tea roses that had been trained up a small trellis next to the front window. They were a lovely shade of pink. "How did you know that it would be _this_ house, though?"

Her new husband stepped through the gate and closed it behind him. He approached her from behind with a quick step. "Because once I found out you'd volunteered for the program, I made Shacklebolt promise this cottage to you in exchange for me participating, too."

She whirled on him and he stopped short. "_That's_ why you volunteered for the marriage thing - to make sure I got this house? But why would you-? Is this your way of making us even for my help during your trial?"

With a roll of his eyes, he gave a sigh of frustration, reached down, and lifted her into his arms. She emitted an actual squeak and reached her arms around him in an automatic response to the human fear of heights. Careful not to raise her skirt an indecent amount, he carried her to the front door, his grip on her firm and easy as if she weighed but a feather.

"Granger, for once don't ruin the mood by launching one of your infamous inquisitions."

With a softly spoken spell, he had the door unlocked and opened, and stepped her through, carrying her over the threshold. With a smooth backwards kick, he had the door shut behind them a moment later.

"Well, is it?" she demanded, her heart sinking a little in her chest at his avoidance of her questions. She didn't want an unresolved debt between them to be the only reason he'd gone to such drastic measures for her.

He met her anger with his own, his blue eyes flashing with it. "For someone with your prodigious and admirable intellectual prowess, wife, you're certainly the most obtuse woman I've ever met," he accused her, and in a quick turn, headed with her into the kitchen-slash-dining room, where he promptly deposited her onto the sturdy, wooden breakfast table that had been placed there, presumably, by the interior decorator he'd earlier mentioned. Once her bum hit the solid surface, he disentangled them, straightened his robes, and turned away to head down the interconnected hallway into the rectangular part of the house.

She gasped in indignation at his rough handling and shouted after him, "I am not obtuse! And why can't you just answer the question? And while we're at it, did you rig the lottery results so we'd end up together?"

He didn't reply, but he did run a hand through his longish, chestnut-coloured hair in obvious frustration and growled loud enough for her to hear his displeasure. Turning a corner, he was out of sight. The click of glass on glass a moment later reached her ears across the distance, though, followed by the 'glug-glug' of liquid being poured.

Well, it would seem her new husband had no problems finding and indulging in the alcohol caddy's offerings.

With a sigh of disgust, she scooted off the table, straightened her clothing, and decided to have a good look around her new home, filing her questions away for now.

**. . . . .**

It took her an hour, but she'd surveyed each room during that time, minus the one Ral had taken as his personal sulking chamber. The decorating was, she hated to admit, perfect to her taste. The nicest touch, however, had been the fresh flowers in every room - even the bathroom. It seemed that her new husband knew her better than she wanted to admit.

She was on her way out of the master bedroom on the second floor of the 'round house', as she'd begun to think of it, to head down the stairs into the kitchen-dining area when she was stopped short by Ral looming in the doorway.

His outer robes had been shed, his dress shirt had been unbuttoned at the collar, and his cravat was missing. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled, and a white scar in the shape of the Dark Mark was clear on the inside of his left forearm. He smelled heavily of Firewhisky.

The moment she met his gaze, Hermione's defensive walls went up. There was a hard determination to Ral's face that she didn't like.

"I joined the sodding Marriage Lottery so I could be paired with you," he fiercely admitted. "I made sure you got this cottage because I knew it would make you happy. I fixed the lottery so we'd be together."

Her mouth opened. Shut. Opened again, but no sound came out. Her brain went dumb trying to wrap itself around such a blatant confession. "But... but you couldn't have hexed the lottery ball. The Ministry made sure-"

"I didn't hex the ball," he admitted, stepping towards her.

She automatically stepped back, careful not to let her three-inch heels trip her up. "Then how-?"

"I charmed your fingers."

Turning her hand over, she looked at her fingers, wiggling them. "To seek out your name. A variation on the Summoning Charm?"

He nodded, stepping towards her again. She countered with an equal step back again, clenching her hand, and wishing she'd had the forethought to bring her wand up from where she'd left it on the dining table below.

"When?"

His lips twitched, as if he were trying to control his amusement. "The last time we were together, before today."

She frowned. "That was twelve months ago."

"I'm _well_ aware of time's passage, love."

"You planned this in advance: the marriage, the cottage. And you cheated to get us here."

He shrugged, continuing to advance while she retreated. A familiar, hungry gleam reflected in his eye. "I've been known to do such things when drastic measures are necessary. Besides, not innocent, remember?"

Heart beating faster, Hermione realized his intentions the moment the back of her legs hit the bed and he closed the distance between them until they were flush. "Ral-"

Warm hands gripped her waist. "No. You won't deny me anymore. I've wanted you for a long time, Hermione. Since the day you stood before the Wizengamot as a Junior Barrister and argued for my freedom, believing in me when no one else would. By the end of the trial, I'd changed because of you. Your faith in me made me want to be a better man, and I've tried - for you, for me, for both of us." He dipped his head and ran his nose over her cheek. "You've driven me half mad with desire for you, witch. Don't you see?"

A hand smoothed up her side, over her arm, to caress her throat, as he dipped his mouth towards her ear, swirling hot breath around the sensitive whorl, his beard and moustache tickling her skin. Hermione reached out and grabbed his arms, holding tight as her knees shook and threatened to send her tumbling backwards into the mattress. Bloody pencil skirt was too tight to manoeuver!

"I tried courting you in the beginning, kitten, but you refused my suit over and over," he continued, pressing small kisses to her temple and jaw. "Then I tried seducing you, but the memory of that damned ginger boy-toy kept interfering. He continued to hold onto your heart even though he'd ended things with you, and I couldn't break through no matter that you let me touch you, kiss you, lick you all over. You never let me make love to you. You never let me in." He nipped her earlobe, his hold on her tightening.

Hermione's heart hammered in her chest, even as her arousal stirred to life. Between her thighs, she dampened. Being close to Ral always had this effect on her, turning her into a ball of blistering, shaking need in seconds.

"You left me no choice. This lottery was the only way to get him out of your life once and for all, and to allow us this chance," he admitted, his tone carrying the slightest hint of anger. "Now you're finally mine. _My_ wife. And I won't be denied again - not by your infuriating questions, or your continued feelings for that Weasley git, or even your obvious distaste for me."

Gripping the ruched neckline of her blouse, he pulled the elastic over her shoulders, stretching the material wider than intended. Seams ripped, as he yanked the top down over her bare arms, trapping them at her side. Before she could do more than gasp with surprise, he'd pulled her bra straps and the front of the blouse down, revealing her breasts.

"My 'Mione," he hungrily growled, and dipped his head, taking one rosy nipple between his lips.

"Ral!" she cried out as his hot mouth suckled with a hard draw upon her. "Oh, God!" It felt so good, so warm and wet. The sensation shot down her spine, bowing it, and her fingernails dug into the crisp cotton of his shirt as she sought an anchor to keep her grounded.

She wanted to tell him that he was wrong about his assumptions; she didn't love Ron anymore, and she didn't feel distaste for him. Before she could do so much as protest, however, she was tumped onto her backside onto the bed and Rabastan pushed her until she lay flat, coming over her to continue sucking at her tender breast. His tongue laved over it, circled it, and gave quick, little licks to it before latching back on with pressure.

"Oh, _oh!_ That's... oh, I like that," she moaned as he gave a final pull and then moved to the other breast, giving it equal attention. She arched her back, urging him on with little mewls of pleasure, her legs scissoring with anticipation against his.

His big hands were everywhere on her, shoving at her tight skirt, pushing it to her waist. He actually tore her knickers from her, ripping the crotch so that they hung off of one hip, leaving her partially exposed. Lust fired through her veins, radiating from her centre and blooming outwards to make every fingertip and toe tingle. Wet heat rushed to her pussy, causing her lower lips to dew with scandalous demand.

The last time they'd been together, he'd gone down on her and eaten her out with a skill that had left her boneless and humming in the afterglow. She'd come for him so hard that for the first time in her whole life, her brain had been too exhausted to think. She'd lain on her couch in her flat, staring at the too-white ceiling above them, her mind utterly silent and her body completely blissed out on endorphins.

It had been the panic of him coming over her naked that had brought her back to reality then. She'd convinced him to let her use her hand to make him come, holding them back from having actual penetrative sex, afraid of pregnancy as she hadn't been on a contraceptive potion then.

Contraceptive...

"Ral, wait-" she protested, shoving at him to give her some air. Her arms were still trapped and she couldn't get the right leverage to push him away. She needed to breathe, to tell him...

Fiercely, he shook his head. "No more waiting," he heatedly argued, tilting his head up and capturing her lips in a hungry kiss, his hand reaching between them to unbutton and unzip his trousers. His hard flesh spilled from his pants, rubbing between her lower lips and clipping her sensitive clit. His fingers were there, too, dipping downward to gather her juices, smearing them across his steely erection.

His mouth claimed hers with a spicy, potent maleness that was part desire, part something more emotionally devastating... and all Ral. His tongue snaked between the seam of her lips, parting them, claiming her mouth with a lush sweep inside. He tempted her with it, teased her until her own tongue twined about his, sharing his ardour.

Gods, she'd missed him - missed his taste and this mad lust that tore through her whenever he so much as touched her! It's why she'd gone out of her way this last year to avoid him. The feelings he evoked went straight to her head, drugging her, addicting her to him all over again.

"Want you, need you," he gasped around ravenous gasps. "Can't wait, kitten."

Grabbing hold of his cock, he slid it down to her opening and guided it into place.

Panic gripped Hermione's heart, and she tore her mouth from his to tell him that she wasn't currently taking any birth control. Instead, she stifled a scream of pleasure behind her clenched teeth as he entered her with one long, powerful thrust, filling and stretching her open, burying his thick shaft to the hilt in her body.

"Ah, gods, you're so _bloody tight_, love," he groaned. "And so wet." He kissed her throat, practically purring in her ear with satisfaction as he began swivelling and pumping his hips to open her up and relax her. "You're so warm and soft around me, my kitten. So beautiful and sexy. Gods, it's good." He groaned as he drew all the way out and slowly slid back into her again, sinking deep into her welcoming heat. "Why didn't we do this sooner?"

Hermione was thinking the very same thing. How had she resisted this for so long? Ral was amazingly tender, and yet underneath it all, she felt the restrained passion edging its way forward. The sounds of his low moans were heady. The feel of his hips stroking against her thighs, pushing them further apart caused the pleasure in her womb to coalesce and bloom. Every inch of skin felt hyper-sensitized. Sex with this man was unlike anything she had previously imagined or dreamed. She'd been foolish to keep him at arm's length.

His hands gripped her bottom and canted her pelvis for a more thorough, deep penetration that had Hermione screaming his name in no time as she shattered with bliss.

Ral pressed a kiss to the bend of her neck as his cock slammed inside her. "That's it, kitten. Give me everything you've got."

Hermione's nails tore into his hips as she shuddered around his steely length. "Oh God. Ral. Ral, I need you!"

"I'm here, love. To stay," he promised between hot panting breaths. "Never leave you now."

His pounding increased until the bed rocked and creaked with the force of his love-making. She rose to meet every one of his thrusts, writhing beneath him, still terribly aroused despite her climax. Her body wanted more of him, almost rapacious in its desire to fuse his heart's wild beat to hers.

"Take me home, kitten," he growled against her throat, cupping her and lifting her bottom off the bed, changing the pace and concentration of his thrusts. "Come for me one more time."

He was stroking her at the perfect speed and angle, and Hermione immediately tumbled over the edge. She sobbed Ral's name and held to him tight as she crashed into the throbbing, aching breach once more. Her whole body tightened, creating a snug grip around his shafting cock.

The force of her orgasm incited Ral's lust. He pushed into her fiercer, harder. His hips pistoned to a frenzied rhythm and with desperate abandon. She was going to hurt later, she knew.

The pressure mounted until at last it spilled over, bowing Ral's spine. With a roar, he tossed his head back and released his seed deep up into her body.

Pinned under her new husband by his weight, Hermione struggled to breathe, and to reclaim her sanity. She felt shattered, remade... exhausted. It was a fight to keep her eyelids open.

"Ral..." she whispered, battling sleep.

His hands slipped up her back, pulling her into his bigger body with a gentleness that belied his earlier intensity. "I've got you, kitten." He rolled them so they were on their sides, sliding out of her drenched depths, his softening, wet penis lying between her thighs. He kissed her sweaty forehead and began stripping them both of their dishevelled clothing.

Merlin's beard, neither of them had been fully naked! They'd been so hot for each other that they'd gone at it like rabbits in the spring time.

She must have spoken that thought aloud without realizing it, because Ral's good-natured, warm laugh took up space in the quiet room. "Neither of us are such gentle creatures, kitten," he stated, pulling his torn shirt from his shoulders and holding it up as evidence. "You've got a vicious set of claws, and I-"

"You purr," she teased, feeling strangely giddy. Must be all the endorphins humming about her system.

He chuckled, kicking off his shoes and socks, and pulling his trousers down his long legs. "You've discovered my emasculating secret, love." Her skirt and shredded knickers were yanked from her waist and thrown with the rest of the clothing. "I'll deny it publicly, of course."

"Oh, of course," she replied with forced sincerity, a giggle ruining the effect.

With the both of them fully naked at last, Ral lay back down and pulled her into his arms. He slung a leg around her, trapping her core against his. "You've worn me out, my wife. I'm not as spry as I was at twenty-five, or even thirty-five."

"Or forty?" she ribbed him.

He tickled her side. "Didn't you ever read the Hogwarts motto, kitten? _Draco dormiens__nun quam titillandus._"

Hermione grinned up at him. "Well, it's a good thing I didn't marry the Malfoy heir, then, isn't it?"

He flipped her onto her back and gave her a suspicious glare. "Bad enough you dated a Weasley, but you weren't involved with that pipsqueak, too, were you?"

All joking aside, she shook her head. "No, I wasn't."

Ral relaxed against her, his face losing its dark expression. Apparently, the Malfoys, via the Blacks, were one of those sore topics that she liked to refer to as 'old photographs' - the negative baggage from one's past that they didn't like to discuss. She would file that knowledge away right next to "Rodolphus" in her mental catalogue of subjects in which it would behoove her to tread lightly.

"Good, because I'd have hated to hex a relative for having once touched you, even one so distant and then only linked by marriage."

Reaching up, Hermione traced a finger over her new husband's lips. This was a side of Ral she hadn't seen before. He'd always been the type to play his cards close to his chest, but when he'd come into their new bedroom tonight, he'd opened up, sharing more honesty and emotion with her than he had since they'd first met.

"Are you saying that you're jealous of the men in my life?" she dared to ask.

His face darkened and he seemed to struggle with his thoughts. Hermione let him work it out, silently waiting and watching his expression for cues as to his innermost feelings. It felt as if they were at a possible turning point in their relationship, and she held her breath, hoping for a break-through.

She felt an acute disappointment a moment later when his features shut down and he withdrew from her again.

"There are no other men in your life," he declared, voice rough with tension and thick with other, more poignant emotions. "Not anymore. _I'm_ your husband, and I'm all you're going to need from here on out."

To prove his point, he used his knees to spread her legs wide and dropped down her body to position his mouth at her core. Hermione had no time to be embarrassed at the knowledge that he was staring into the very heart of her femininity as his tongue lashed out and branded her with wet heat again and again.

There was no thought after that, only ribbons of whipping, burning pleasure coursing through her veins, pulsing through her womb, followed by a shattering sense of complete satiation, and then the inevitable draw of the dark.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

As had been her habit for almost all of her life, Hermione woke up with the sun. Ral was still asleep, lightly snoring, as she disentangled her body from his and rose to use the facilities. Between her thighs, a throbbing, insistent soreness was present, and she decided to soak in a hot tub for a bit before beginning her day.

With the contents of her old flat brought over, she was able to locate her favourite bath products easily enough, and with a wave of her wand, she filled the tub with heated water. The Epsom salts helped her tired muscles to loosen up, and the ache below let go after about an hour. She quickly scrubbed up with her Ginger Blossom-scented soap and then emptied the tub, drying off with a fluffy, thick towel - one of Ral's, no doubt, as it didn't match any of her linens.

She found a lovely woman's silk robe hanging in the magically-expanded armoire and after slipping on a pair of pretty, black satin knickers and a matching bra - one of her very few sets of nice lingerie - she slid into the robe, belting it in the middle and headed down to make breakfast. She was famished as she hadn't had the chance to eat dinner the night before.

By the time she hit the bottom of the stairs, Ral was already sitting at the dining table, a full breakfast banquet was laid out for them, and Crooks was busy gobbling down his cat food from a freshly cleaned bowl in a place set aside on the floor just for him.

A sneaky suspicion overtook her then. "You have a house-elf," she accused.

Ral held up a fresh cup of steaming morning tea and smirked at her. "Whom I pay rather well, thanks to your unholy influence over the laws regarding their inalienable rights as Magical Beings."

She rolled her eyes and crossed the kitchen-slash-dining area to join her husband at the table's opposite end, grousing about the state of entitlement among pureblood families under her breath. Rabastan's grin widened as he listened in on her private conversation.

"Fun though hearing you berate my lineage has been," he interrupted, "I'd like to know what you'd like to do today."

She considered it as she spread jam atop her toast. "I'd like to see the rest of the property outside, and perhaps take a walk through the neighbourhood, should the weather hold."

They agreed on the plan, and finished their meal quickly.

As Hermione rose to the kitchen sink to set the plates for a good magical wash, Ral sneaked up behind her. His hands pressed into the counter to either side, caging her between them and assuring her no easy escape. From behind, he crowded into her until she could feel the length of his prominent erection pressing into the sway of her hind. His mouth dipped to her ear.

"Of all the scents you've ever worn" -he pressed his nose to the nape of her neck and inhaled- "this one has always been my favourite. It makes me hungry for you." He nibbled on her tender lobe and rubbed up and down through the crack of her bottom. "Maybe that's why you bathed with that particular soap this morning, hmm? You _want_ me to eat you." He licked the side of her throat, tracing a wet path to the back of her ear. "Would you like that, my kitten? Would you like my tongue lapping up all your sweet cream?"

Godric, the things this man could make her feel! Already her heart was pounding and her hands shaking. Between her thighs, her tender folds swelled, and juices spilled from her pussy.

"Tell me, love," he demanded with another long glide of his arousal against her. "Shall I suck your pretty, pink clit between my lips again, or... do we just get dressed and take that walk you wanted?"

Hermione's fingers unconsciously clenched, dragging her fingernails across the stone countertop. The scratching noise only served to provoke them both towards a decision.

"I want you to... to lick me... there," she moaned, feeling her clit throb with anticipation. "Please, just do something!"

His wicked chuckle against her throat was filled with sinful promise. "Take the robe off."

Dropping to his knees behind her, he pulled her knickers from her legs as she un-belted the robe and tossed it away. For good measure, she unhooked and discarded her bra as well, uncaring where it was flung to as she hurried to get into position for him.

He tilted her a bit more forward by gripping her hips and pulling her back a few inches, and then slid his fingers through her silken folds. "Bloody hell, kitten, you're so wet already." He pierced her cunt with two fingers and began fucking her with them. "I love how tight you are. I love how this pussy sucks me in and holds me." He withdrew after a few pumps and let his tongue take over.

The wail of pleasure drawn from Hermione's mouth wasn't a sound she'd ever emitted before. Immediately, her legs starts shaking as badly as her hands had earlier, and she had to lean more of her weight forward to keep from falling to her knees.

"Yes, oh, yes. Oh God, yes! Take me, take me, _take me!"_ she begged, whimpering, greedy for more of what Ral was offering.

Even though she'd previously known from their carnal encounters that fooling around with this wizard was something she enjoyed doing, she'd also decided last night that the sex was quite spectacular and not to be missed. For a guy locked in Azkaban for half of his life, Rabastan Lestrange certainly knew how to handle a woman.

Maybe all that alone time had given him an opportunity to hone his imagination. Whatever the reason, Hermione was now of the opinion that perhaps marrying this man hadn't been such a bad thing after all, and that she could overlook his cheating that had brought them to this place...

"Oh, God!" she screamed in rapture, arching her spine as her climax took hold of her and shook her world for all it was worth.

...especially when he did things like _that_ with his mouth and fingers.

Panting, slumped over the counter, she was barely aware of Ral rising to his full height, or of him divesting his robe and boxers.

She was fully aware however, when he grabbed hold of her by the hips, dipped his knees, and thrust hard into her. Still reeling from her earlier orgasm, the way he moved within her from this angle kept Hermione in a state of heightened stimulation. He knocked the breath from her as he slammed home time and again, the grip he maintained on her hips keeping her still and perfectly poised for his deep penetration.

"Ral," she sobbed, her body and soul quaking with need, "what are you doing to me?"

He bit the tender flesh over her pulse and groaned. "Loving you, my 'Mione," he murmured, his sweaty brow sliding against her damp skin. "With everything I've got."

Tears pricked her eyes at his soulful confession. Did he mean it, though? Did he love her, or was this just something to say in the heat of the moment? Could she trust him? She had trusted Ron when he'd said it... and then he'd wanted to "take a break" from her time and again for Godric knew what reason. She wasn't sure she could go through that kind of let-down again, honestly.

"Stay with me," he growled, nipping her throat. "There's nothing else but here and right now, kitten." He surged into her with a long, slow glide. "Feel us together and don't think of anything else. I want you coming so hard around my cock that I want to die from the pleasure."

A hand slid up her body, cupping and rolling a breast, while the other moved between her legs to circle her clitoris with teasing flicks. All the while, he continued pumping in and out of her with deep, hard thrusts that took their time, building up the pressure, forcing her to her tiptoes... dragging her into the heart of the storm again.

With a shattering wail, she let go. Ral held her close, riding out her orgasm with her, his arms locked around her, his mouth at her ear whispering beautiful things to her. Tears burned her eyes as some unnamed emotion grabbed hold of her soul and shook her to her core.

With a powerful drive and a cry of rapture, her husband found his own ending. Pulses of hot, wet seed erupted deep within her, filling her up, completing her.

They collapsed together, letting the counter hold them up. The length of his naked body pressed intimately against her spine, and through the sinew and bone and muscle, she could feel his heart pounding out the same rhythm as hers.

"Got you, kitten," Ral murmured, pressing kisses to her throat and cheek. "I've got you."

Shuddering against his hard, perspiring body, Hermione was beginning to understand that her new husband was right: he did have her... and in more ways than she had ever imagined possible.

. . . . .

They scoped the boundaries of their property together while holding hands, deciding as a couple where their herb and veg gardens would be established and how best to set-up the area in the back for summer-time entertainment.

"An outdoor fireplace?" Ral asked, amused at the concept. "Love, we've got Warming Charms for that. What do we need a fire for?"

She looked up at him in curiosity. "You've never been camping before, have you?"

He scoffed. "Does camping out in Azkaban count?"

She waved him off. In the sunlight, her wedding ring flashed a brilliant rainbow of colours, catching her eye. "I meant as a child."

Ral withdrew his hands from hers and shoved it and its mirror twin into his trouser pockets. He stared off towards the neighbouring house, his expression icy. "Have you forgotten, kitten? I'm from a family of wizarding nobility. We don't grovel around in the dirt and grass like commoners or Muggles." The sarcasm rolled off his tongue, along with the bitterness.

She'd never been particularly close to anyone from such a background. The Weasleys, despite their pureblood heritage, were certainly not of blue blood stock, nor were the Longbottoms, the Lovegoods, or any of her other friends' families. Ironically, of them all, her parents might be considered the most elitist.

"Would you like to try camping with me?" she asked. "We could even do it right here in the backyard to try it out for your first time."

The truth was, the thought of being alone with Ral in a tent was sort-of a thrill. There was something primitive and earthy about roughing it out in a temporary shelter, enjoying the fresh air and nature, that not even her months-long hopping about in a tent during the war with Harry and Ron had managed to kill in her. Camping was nostalgic, it was fun... and the idea of sharing a cot with Ral - of sharing his warmth while huddled under blankets in tight quarters - made things low in her abdomen clench.

Taking a chance, she stepped into him, running her hands up his chest, receiving a private thrill from the way his muscles jumped under her touch. Ral's head snapped around, and he stared down at her with some measure of surprise.

"Well, well," he snarked, grinning. "Since camping seems to buzz your wand, love, I'm game. We'll try it out tonight, right here."

Excited at the idea of camping out in her own backyard - something she hadn't done since she was ten - Hermione rewarded her husband with a heated kiss.

"Seems the old adage about honeymooning is true," he joked as his lips ghosted over hers. "You can't keep your paws off of me, kitten."

She huffed. He laughed. They broke apart and finished their walk, hand-in-hand, getting a feel for the neighbourhood.

The next door residents, she was pleased to discover, were Susan Bones and Theodore Nott. Their little cottage was a one story to the right of Hermione's and Ral's property.

Hermione knew through rumour that after the war, Theodore had lost everything; his father's gambling debts and the weight of the Ministry's post-war reparations had left him without a sickle to his name. He'd been bunking with the Malfoys the last she'd heard. Susan's story had been similarly tragic: her entire family had been wiped out by Voldemort and she was the last surviving member. During the war, she'd been captured and tortured, repeatedly raped by Mulciber, Jugson, and Rodolphus. It had taken her fellow D.A. sister-in-arms years to recover to the point where she was now.

The smiling couple greeted Hermione and her new husband at their front gate, both wearing their gardening clothes and their gloved hands smeared with dirt. Apparently, they were planting flowers and herbs the Muggle way, and both seemed to be enjoying the challenge.

They chatted for a bit over the fence, and then Susan invited Hermione and Ral to dinner that weekend. "Definitely come," Theo had openly agreed. They said they would, with a promise to bring a nice bottle of wine and dessert.

Continuing on down the lane, they saw that Gregory Goyle and Millicent Bulstrode had moved in next to Susan and Theo, and that the house beyond them belonged to the Rosier heir and his new wife, Hestia Carrow. She and Ral stopped at both cottages, setting aside old prejudices and making a fresh start in the doing. There were promised exchanges for an outdoor picnic and another dinner by the time Hermione had reached the first unoccupied house on the block. There was a row of them locked up and waiting for new owners, as some of the more affluent participants of the Marriage Lottery had declined the offered living arrangements to continue residing in their ancestral homes.

Overall, it was a very quiet neighbourhood with great potential. Every cottage was unique and beautiful, with thatched or plank or slate roofs, gardens with lovely flowering plants and trees, and enough space for children to run and play in the enclosed yards at some point in the future. It was, quite literally, an enchanted storybook land come to life, she thought.

It was also funny to Hermione to note that just down the road a bit more, she spied Muggle houses whose owners knew nothing of the wizarding community living right next door.

She had been like those people once - could have continued to be, if her parents, for all their priggishness about class, had opted to decline her invitation to Hogwarts and gone with the alternative: allowed her magic to be sealed away within her to prevent her from hurting others. If that had happened, she would have missed out on so much...

As if reading her thoughts, Ral squeezed her hand with a warm, gentle affection. Their eyes met as they strolled down the lane towards their home.

Being a witch was wonderful, she decided, and she was glad she hadn't missed out on the joy of wielding magic, no matter the sorrows that accompanied the decision.

In fact, perhaps it was time to let go of the regrets in her past, and instead focus on where the future would take her instead...

. . . . .

"This isn't half as bad as I expected."

Hermione snorted. "That's because you've never tried it before."

Ral shrugged. "Still, it's novel, isn't it? For a Lestrange, anyway."

She prodded the fire in the pit they'd magically created in the backyard, drawing her toasted marshmallow roast from the flames and blowing on it. "And, it's grander than staying in a holiday park. We've got all the conveniences of home just steps away."

He tossed her a rakish grin. "Yes, how could we ever get by without the loo?"

She shoved the metal poker with her treat stuck on the end at her husband. "Speaking of the bathroom..." Climbing to her feet, she turned to their tent, and the charmed canvas flaps slipped open to let her through. Reaching into the bag on her hip, she withdrew from its depths the miniaturized clawfoot tub that she'd packed earlier. Setting it on the ground in the middle of the tent, she stepped back and magicked it to its rightful size, and then filled it with hot water.

Reaching into her bag again, she withdrew a bottle of Muggle shower wash, and set it on a chair nearby. Then, she began stripping her clothing off.

Ral was on his feet in seconds, the marshmallow dropped into the grass without thought, making it inedible. "What-?"

"When I was camping for nearly that whole year with Harry and Ron during the war, I'd wished so many times for the opportunity to have a private bath like this while looking up at the stars at night," she admitted her secret fantasy, pulling her jeans from her legs. Glancing at him through her lashes, she tossed him a smile she hoped was seductive enough to entice him over. "I think I'll indulge tonight."

_Please join me__,_ she thought, reaching behind to unhitch her bra and toss it away. She kept her eyes locked on his, noting the way the blue darkened with sexual hunger.

This afternoon's revelation that she was glad to be a witch because she was happier now than she'd ever been in the whole of her life made her realize that most of that new-found joy stemmed from being with Ral. She'd never felt anything quite like what she experienced whenever he was nearby, even when he was behaving in an irritating manner. He amused her, incited and engaged her, and knew all the right ways to seduce her. They worked in a way she never could have with Ron, and she wondered again why she'd held back from this.

In truth, she'd always been rather... stiff... with her ex, emotionally disjointed and out of sync with him. They'd connected better as friends, even though it had taken her a long time to understand and appreciate that fact. It had taken this connection with Rabastan, denied though it was for the last year and a half, to see that the future she'd laid out in her head in regards to marriage to her ginger boyfriend had been fanciful and childish.

There was nothing immature in Ral's expression as he took in her nude form with a sweeping gaze.

"I didn't know exhibitionism was your thing, love."

She slipped into the tub and let the hot water soak into her bones. "Recently, I'm discovering a lot of new things about myself," she admitted. "The last day and a half has been rather... enlightening."

Their eyes met, held.

"Has it?" he asked in a soft murmur, reaching to the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. "All good, I hope."

Her throat tightened as his fingers unbuttoned his trousers and pulled down the zip.

"There room for two in there?" he asked, kicking his shoes off.

Hermione nodded. "We can always use magic so we'll fit," she reminded him.

Ral's saucy smile was devastating to her libido. "Now, why didn't I think of that?"

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

For two glorious weeks, Hermione and her insatiable husband made love everywhere, at any time. There were days that the lazy heat of summer rolled over their little cottage to add to their fever for the other, and days when the humidity was bearable enough for them to work in their small garden together.

During that time, she'd also made friends with her neighbours, set up some planter boxes in the side yard and filled them with herbs and some late-blooming squashes, and even managed to find time in between everything else to visit with Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and George down at The Leaky for a pint. She'd tried to drag Ral along for that last bit of fun, too, but he'd insisted that she'd needed some time with her friends, as he'd monopolized it all for the last few weeks, and so she'd left him at home and gone out alone.

Flooing to Hannah Abbott's newly renovated pub, she'd been extremely punctual in her arrival - which meant she'd breezed in at least five minutes ahead of the others. Used to being the first to check in anytime there was a gathering, she knew the responsibility of picking a private table big enough to accommodate the expected party number fell to her. As soon as she parked her bum in a chair, Luna showed up with George Weasley in tow. They were both flushed, as if they'd been busy doing something heated just prior to Flooing over. Hermione pursed her lips, trying to bury her smile, but George noticed and he just winked at her and grinned.

The others arrived soon afterwards, and there was no awkwardness in their hugs and greetings, as she'd secretly worried there might be, especially since it had been no secret that Ron had been excluded from the invite to spare his feelings. In fact, the group acted as if nothing had changed from the last time they'd all gathered together like this, more than a year before.

That night, for the first time in a long time, Hermione hadn't felt uncomfortable being with her oldest friends. In fact, she'd had a lovely time, laughing and reliving fonder times, talking about the adjustment of married life and how she and Ral were getting along. She described her cottage, and how even Crooks approved of the layout. Everyone was in high spirits, and by the time they'd decided to call it a night a few hours later, having talked themselves out. They'd all agreed to the idea of regularly meeting up in the pub thereafter, as they once used to.

"I'm glad to see you so happy, 'Mione," Harry had murmured as he hugged her goodnight. "Ginny and I both are. I admit that we thought you spare for volunteering for the lottery, but I'm glad it's worked out for you."

"Thank you, Harry. That means more to me than you can know," she whispered back.

They'd all said their 'see you laters,' and then gone their separate ways home. Forgoing the Floo, Hermione had Apparated over to her comfy cottage and immediately hurtled herself into Ral's arms the moment she'd come into the living room and spied him sitting in a cosy chair reading. He'd been wearing his reading spectacles, and the sight of him peeking at her over their rims and over the edge of his book had shot her libido to the moon. Taking the initiative, she convinced him to put down his one entertainment for another of a slightly more provocative nature, and they'd ended up having sex with her bent over the couch, her arms restrained at the sway of her hind by his hands as he enthusiastically pounded her into the cushions.

She'd gone to sleep that night with a brilliant smile on her face that refused to be tamed. Ral teased her about it for three straight days afterwards.

**. . . . .**

A week later, Hermione was feeling like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis in spring after living all winter within the smothering safety of its cocoon: more alive than ever before. Her magic was stronger and her confidence higher, and according to Ral, her beauty had no equal. She felt both radiant and powerful - a first for her.

The reason was simple: in that time she'd come to realize that she'd fallen in love with her exasperating, sly, sexy husband.

That startling awareness happened, of all things, on a rainy day. The downpour that morning wasn't particularly an odd bout of weather for Berkshire, which had on average nine to eleven rainy days during the month of June.

Hermione had wanted to work on pruning the three small rose bushes that had been planted near the fence line between her property and the boundary of the wizarding block, and then cutting the grass, which was growing at an astonishing rate. As the last house in the row, her yard was the largest, and would require a good hour of effort, even using magic to trim to verge. However, the weather kept her from her intended day labour, and as she stared out the front window in her kitchen, watching the water sheet down, she sighed in disappointment.

Ral had found her in such foul spirits, and immediately set about righting that problem: he'd dragged her outside into the rain, and there, sheltered around the side of their house that faced a line of trees, he'd made love to her in the grass.

The soft turf under her naked back had tickled, and although the ground was hard, it smelled fresh and earthy, and was an aphrodisiac unto itself in a way that only the outdoors can be. Using his big body, her husband had sheltered her from most of the storm's fury, but their bodies were still slicked by the rain and the heat of their need. Their mouths were relentless to couple in the same manner as their sexes, tongues thrusting in and out to mimic what their lower bodies were doing.

She'd been both terrified and mortified by what they were doing - _what if someone saw them? _- and yet she'd still done it. Her mind and body had fully trusted his lead...

...and that's when she'd known she loved Ral.

Of course, she couldn't tell him, afraid of saying the words because he hadn't volunteered them first. Instead, she'd watched him come into her again and again, his thrusts deep and sure. She'd cradled his body close with her legs and arms, rolling her hips just so to bring him maximum satisfaction. And she watched his beautiful face as he threw his head back and his rain-soaked hair tossed droplets like a curtain across his back, and she'd thought the words.

_I love you._

She'd followed him into bliss a moment behind, angling her face to the sky, too, and letting the rain hide the evidence of her enlightenment as it dripped in hot rivulets down her cheeks.

**. . . . .**

A week later Hermione was still reeling from her epiphany. She really had done the unthinkable: she'd fallen in love with her husband.

That wouldn't be such a terrible thing under normal circumstances, except Ral didn't appear to be in love with her back. In fact, it seemed to her as though the more she emerged from her protective shell and was willing to make her heart vulnerable, the more Rabastan withdrew, taking his warmth with him and emotionally shutting her out.

This last week in particular, their fourth and final together before the honeymoon period ended and it was back to work as usual next week, was quite telling in that regard: they'd only had sex a few times, and it was clear to her that her partner's kisses had cooled. The act itself had been almost mechanical, lacking in the heat that had sustained it since the night they'd exchanged their vows. On the flip side, Ral also was quick to temper; he grew sullen and angry at the slightest provocation, and their conversations were terse and short as a result.

It quickly became apparent to her that she was encountering the "Ron situation" all over again and the anxiety that accompanied that fear had haunted her into her dreams at night. She'd woken up sweating, shaking, and crying just a few days previous after having a nightmare that Ral told her he'd lost interest and wanted a divorce.

Was that what he was trying to tell her with his distant attitude? Had he decided that now that he'd 'rubbed the new' off of their relationship that she wasn't what he'd wanted after all? As she combed through her wet hair after a quick shower that morning, she kept her peripheral vision on him in their bedroom, trying to decipher his expression for clues.

He was getting dressed for the day, and to her frustration, his face was a blank mask, his concentration very far away.

Putting her comb down, she hovered in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom, deciding that she'd had enough of them tip-toeing around the thousand pound gorilla in the room. "What's happening to us?" she asked, reaching deep for her lion's courage for this confrontation. "We were so happy, but lately something's changed."

He stared at her in silence, his shirt half-off, his belt undone, barefoot and breath-taking... and so beyond her reach just then that she nearly cried from the loss.

"Have I done something?"

He grimaced, frowned, and shook his head. "No, it's not..." He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing the bangs from his face. "It's not anything you've done on purpose."

Hot, twisting pokers turned in her belly. "I don't understand."

He reached out for his wand on the dresser, pulling the pine wood rod into his hand. He stared at it, rolling its weight between his fingers.

"You're pregnant."

It took a moment for those two words to sink in. When they did, Hermione scoffed in disbelief. A beat later, all of the blood drained from her face and her hands began shaking.

It was true that her menses hadn't come this week, when they'd been due. And she had totally forgotten that she hadn't been on a contraceptive potion, too overwhelmed by the new relationship she was discovering to recall that fact, especially when in the heat of the moment. She'd acted with reckless abandon for the first time in her life, revelling in feelings rather than in facts. What he'd claimed was certainly possible.

"H-how do you know?"

He held up his wand. "I cast a pregnancy reveal spell on you last week. It showed me that you'd already conceived." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Try it yourself if you don't believe me."

Her knees quaked as she made her way to their bed and sat on the edge. "No, if you say it's true, then I trust you. You wouldn't make up something like that. How... do you feel about it?"

His silence was telling.

Godric, he didn't want it, did he? He didn't want their child!

"What do you expect me to do?" she asked, heartbroken by his rejection. She rubbed her hand over her still-flat tummy. "I won't abort, if that's what you want. I don't believe in it."

"Then why ask for my input when you've already decided a course for us?"

She reeled at his response, her surprise pronounced. Anger bubbled to the surface as a solid defense to his cruel implication. "You sound disappointed with the decision I've made." She _tsked_. "Honestly, what did you think was going to happen, Ral? For the first three weeks of this marriage, we engaged in sex like it was going out of fashion, and you've certainly never given thought to contraceptives. This is as much your fault as it is mine."

"You're right, it is," he agreed without a fight. His voice was as flat as his gaze. "I'll abide by your decision, of course." With a wave of his wand, his shirt was buttoned and tucked in, his belt was hitched, and his trousers righted.

"You're going out? Now?" she asked. She was astounded that he would just walk away without really discussing this issue with her. They needed to work it out and come to an acceptance, to make plans for this unexpected circumstance. Instead, he was running away from her.

Taking a break.

God, this _was _Ron all over again, wasn't it?

"I need to go to the Manor to deal with some things," he stated, slipping his socks and shoes on. "I'll be back by dinner."

"No, you just can't walk away from this," she told him. "We need to sort this out."

He stood, walked to her, and bent to press a kiss to her cheek. "Later. Right now, I have to do this."

Stepping back, he headed for the door.

"Ral, don't go," she called after him, getting to her feet and following. "We have to talk. We need to."

He didn't stop, heading down the stairs and to the side door that led to the yard.

She panicked. "Don't you leave this house, Rabastan Alastair Lestrange. I mean it!"

He froze with his hand on the doorknob.

She stopped at the bottom stair, appalled by the shrieking demand she'd just made.

The air between grew stifling as the silence stretched.

"I'm sorry for yelling," she finally apologized. "It's just that this is like... old photographs." His expression grew puzzled. "I mean, it reminds me of bad things in my past, specifically the situation with Ron," she explained. "He did the same thing to me you're doing now just before-"

"Before he told you that you were really finished," Ral guessed. "That night he caught you and me snogging at your flat."

Hermione nodded. "I don't think I can go through that again. Just, please talk to me. I want to know why you're pulling away. Is this because of the baby?"

He took a deep breath and let it out in a slow release, letting go of the doorknob. Hermione's anxiety backed off a bit at that.

"No, I'm not disappointed that you're pregnant. I'm... scared," he finally admitted. Raising his left forearm, he stared at the spot where the scar from the Dark Mark rested under the white cotton shirtsleeve. "Someday, I'm going to have to explain this to our son or daughter. I'm going to have to tell our child that I watched and did nothing while innocent people were tortured and murdered - not just once, but twice. That I was complicit in their deaths by my silence. No amount of good deeds or pretty words will ever wash those sins away."

"You were a young man, barely out of boyhood," she automatically defended him. "Voldemort was terrifying just to look at. To have all of your family members pledge allegiance to him, and for them to expect you to do likewise under implied pain of death was a kind of pressure that no one can understand until they're faced with such a choice. It wasn't your fault."

Firmly, he shook his head. "Regulus Black did the right thing. He was the same age as me."

"You did the right thing, too," she reminded him, coming down that last step and walking towards him. "Shall I remind you?"

He shook his head. "Don't-"

"When the first Azkaban breakout happened," she spoke over him, ignoring his request, "you sought out Snape's help. He took you to Dumbledore. After being in prison for fourteen years, you could have run then - far away from Voldemort and your past. But you didn't. You stayed, and you turned spy, the same as Severus, to make things right."

"Hermione-" he tried to argue, but she continued to ignore his entreaties.

"At the risk of your own life, you intentionally used the _Diffindo_ charm to cause Neville's robe pocket to tear as Harry hauled him up those stone steps during that surprise attack at the Department of Mysteries so the prophecy ball hidden within would fall out and smash to pieces. You didn't want your side to get it, so you found a way to destroy it when no one else was looking, and to make it look like a simple, clumsy accident so your cover wouldn't be blown. You _Stupefy'_dsome of the Death Eaters who crashed Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding and made it look like friendly fire. You sneaked in food and water to the prisoners kept in Malfoy Manor through their house-elf whenever possible. You were smart enough to listen to the WWN and break the Weasley code so you could keep tabs on where Harry, Ron, and I were supposedly hiding during that final year of the war, and then you threw off any Snatchers that were reportedly in the same area as us by sending them on wild good chases in the opposite direction."

She reached out and took the hand that held his wand in her sweaty grip. "Ral, you bent your knee to the darkest wizard in history and pleaded for Draco Malfoy's life after he'd failed to kill Dumbledore, and you suffered for that noble act, taking the Cruciatus Curse in Malfoy's place. All so you could protect Snape's godson because you felt you owed him a debt of honour."

The wand left his fingers, and she felt its power blaze up her arm. "The worst part was that no one knew about any of those good deeds and sacrifices until you'd been trussed up in chains, hauled back to Azkaban, and served an additional five years in prison. It was an injustice to make you wait that long for your trial. That time can never be gotten back, and the damage to your reputation..."

"I'm a Lestrange," he pointed out with a bitter smirk. "I think society is more than aware of what kind of people we are. Old photographs, you know."

She stamped her foot on the ground and stared up at him with a frown. "You are _not _your brother! How many times do I have to say it? I told you that throughout the trial, and I stick by that belief. The Wizengamot's verdict proved it as well. Why can't you trust us to see that truth?"

"Because every time I look in the mirror, I see him. We look almost identical. Stones, woman, I even grew up with the same beliefs as him!"

He reached for his wand, and she held it away, afraid that once he took it back, he would be gone. "But you made the choice not to believe in them. You never once used an Unforgivable, Ral. Not once, even during Voldemort's first war."

He growled. "Maybe not, but I didn't do anything to stop my fucking brother and twisted sister-in-law from torturing the Longbottoms, did I? I stood back and did nothing!"

"You were eighteen and scared!" she shouted back. "I've met Rodolphus, remember? You may look similar, but you're nothing alike inside your heart where it counts. He's mad, evil. He likes hurting others. I remember the Pensieve memories from the trial. He used to beat on you all the time!"

"That's no excuse for being a coward, Hermione." He loomed over her now, backing her across the room with menacing steps. "Paint the story anyway you want, but nothing I have done can make up for the people I turned my back on while he hurt them. They haunt me when I close my eyes at night. How am I supposed to face my child and explain that to him? How am I supposed to explain that his father was a piece of shite Death Eater?"

Her bum hit the solid dining table, and she flinched. He was in her face, forehead pressed to hers a step later.

"You see? Even you fear me on some level. Your Gryffindor courage won't let you show it, but it's there."

Firmly she shook her head. "I don't fear you, Ral. You would never hurt me."

His eyes narrowed and he quickly manoeuvered so his wand was out of her hand and back into his. Its tip pressed very lightly over her vulnerable belly, where their child was just beginning life. "So sure about that, are you?"

She nodded. "I am."

He huffed with cynical amusement. "Oh, but wife, you don't know all of what I've done to get us here. I didn't tell you the half of my treachery. I schemed and manipulated for a year and a half to get you in my bed, Hermione. From the moment the verdict came down that I was a free man, I knew I would pursue you, and that I would do anything it took to have you. _Anything._"

He glanced through his thick, dark lashes at her.

"Did you know that I was the one who convinced your Weasley to ask you for a break?"

Her head jerked back in surprise and her jaw fell open. "W-what?"

Ral gave her a bitter smirk. "He came to see me before the trial ended, at Azkaban. As an Auror, he has access, you know. He told me he wanted me to stop filling your head with nonsense about my being innocent, because you were running yourself ragged trying to prove it. He said he never saw you anymore because the trial was taking too long to be resolved, and he was getting tired of not having his girlfriend available for him anytime he wanted. So, I told him the one thing I knew would make him step aside: that he couldn't hold you back from your career, and that it was wrong to try to do so. I told him he wasn't being a man, but a whining boy, and that what he expected you to do - to pick him over everything else in your life - would only hurt you in the end."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. "Y-you were right. I would have resented him if he'd presented me with an ultimatum."

Ral frowned. "Did you not hear me? I manipulated him into letting you go."

She considered that argument, but firmly decided it to be a crock. "No, you merely told Ron the truth. He was the one who decided that I wasn't worth the fight. If he'd really wanted to be with me, he would have understood my career aspirations and tried to compromise. He didn't want to though. He was used to the women in his life, specifically his mother, bending over backwards to accommodate him. It's one of the reasons we were on and off again so much. This last time was just the final nail in the coffin."

He paused, seemed to be taken aback by her calm response to his confession.

"Fine, but did you also know that I came up with the idea of the Marriage Lottery?" he asserted. "I told you that I rigged the results and that I agreed to participate in exchange for you getting this house, but in actuality, I was behind the whole scheme. I presented the proposal to the Minister, and then cut deals with the man so he would convince you to join. I advised him that he could accomplish signing you on by threatening to cut the funding on your important charities, specifically those that were on the verge of getting key legislation passed this year."

"You did that?" she asked, aghast. "That was a dirty, rotten, political trick!"

His face was completely unapologetic. "Absolutely was. I even went so far as to recruit all of the Death Eaters and Snatchers that the Wizengamot had let off with probation, as well as some of the more infamous loyalists to Voldemort's cause, to give the scheme some semblance of legitimacy. Lucius' son, Nott's boy, Carmine Zabini's heir, Rosier's grandson, the Greengrass' youngest, the Carrow twins, as well as the others. And you already know that I misused magic to assure we were paired together during the lottery rather than leave it to the whim of fate." He leaned in until their noses touched and stared her straight in the eye. "And you know what? I'm not sorry for any of it. Don't have an ounce of regret for so spectacularly manipulating everyone for the sole purpose of making you mine. So, still think I'm trustworthy?"

She released a suffering sigh. "Well, you're definitely a slippery snake," she admitted, giving him an arch look. "But it's not like I didn't know that about you already. After all, you were able to keep the vilest dark wizard in history from knowing you were working against him for two years." She poked him in the pectoral. "And you're going to owe me for making me worry about the werewolves and merpeople's funds. That was not amusing."

He looked incredulous. "Not amusing? That's all you have to say after what I did?"

"What you did," she stated, interrupting him, "was to create a scheme that gave some people an opportunity at a better life. Yes, your reasons for doing so weren't in the least bit altruistic, but I don't think most of those who participated in the lottery are disappointed with the outcome."

"You can't know that," he protested.

Hermione put two fingers over his lips. "In fact, I can. I was talking to Susan just a few days ago. She's confessed to me that she's quite satisfied that she was paired with Theo. He's perfectly gentle with her, and that's just what she needs after what she went through in the war. They're making a real go of it. From what she said, the younger Greengrass girl, Astoria, has done an admirable job bringing to heel that no-account ferret, Malfoy, too. She'd always had an eye for him, and the lottery gave her the chance she wanted. Susan says Draco follows his petite, dark-haired wife around like a little panting puppy whenever they come to visit her and Theo. Personally, I find that visual rather amusing." Her lips twitched as she repressed a grin. "Millie is as happy as can be with Greg, and he with her. Everyone knows she'd secretly pined over him all through school, anyway. And as you've witnessed yourself at dinner last week, Evan and Eleanor are head over heels for each other." She feathered her fingers over his cheek in a loving caress. "So, you see? Unintended consequences aren't always a bad thing. You've done some real good with your scheming."

Ral looked put out, as if her reaction wasn't at all what he'd expected. Hermione repressed a snicker. Her husband fancied himself wearing a black hat, when in reality it was more a lighter shade of grey.

She leaned up on tiptoe, bringing her lips to his. "Face it: you're a good man, Rabastan Lestrange, despite your lingering Slytherin tendencies, and I know that is true because I could never fall in love with someone who didn't have a redemptive heart."

His blue eyes flared with surprise. "Love?"

She kissed him very gently and nodded. "Love."

The set of his features told her he was wary to accept such a powerful word at face value. "You're sure?" he asked, giving her an out in case she decided she'd said the words in error.

Hermione squared her shoulders, preparing to defend her feelings. "I am."

There was a moment of utter stillness as her confession irrevocably branded them both, and then his body gave a violent shudder, and his arms banded around her with strength as his mouth captured hers with wild possession. His tongue twined with hers, clashed, and established his dominance at the same time as begged for her participation.

"Say it again," he begged around frantic pulls of lips.

"Mmm," Hermione moaned around the fierce thrusting of his tongue. "I love you, Ral."

Beneath her kneading fingertips, his heart raced. "Kitten, my sweet kitten," he muttered. "Gods, I've waited so long..."

Distantly, she noted the sound of his wand hitting the stone floor, and then with a heave, she was off the floor and her bum was perched on their dining table. Stepping between her legs, spreading them open, he pressed the rigid length of his cock into the deep cradle of her body. In a quick yank, her cotton Muggle tee was off and tossed aside, and with some clever manoeuvering, her bra followed.

Cupping the back of her head, her husband applied pressure, tilting her neck back as his lips slanted over hers. He feasted at her mouth with a desperate hunger she'd never felt from him before. He'd always been intense when it came to love-making, but this... this was intense ratcheted up and dialed in to one-thousand amps. It was as if he were trying to own the moment, own her and everything in between.

He guided her down until her back hit the table, cradling her skull to prevent it from bumping. Only then did he pull his mouth from hers to smooth over her throat. Wet heat bathed the spot over her pulse, tickling up to that sensitive spot right below her ear. The moment he hit it, Hermione's body flushed from head to toe. She moaned as he attacked the area with devious determination, causing the fire within her veins to roar out of control.

"Ral," she cried out, pressing her core against him and rubbing up and down. "Ral, please! I need-"

"I know what you need," he rasped in her ear, breathing hard, his hands skimming up her waist to cup her breasts. "And I'm going to give it to you, love. Give you everything hard and deep, just like you want."

She tossed her head. "Yes, _yes_," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he rolled his hips in a slow glide against her cotton shorts.

Dipping his head, his mouth enclosed over a nipple, bathing it in warm, wet heat. His hands were everywhere, skimming across her freshly bathed skin, cupping, kneading, caressing.

He yanked her shorts and knickers down her legs, and she helped him kick them off. His fingers found her damp curls a beat later, and then he was rubbing her clit in circles while simultaneously nipping at her breast, pulling the taut, little bud between his teeth. The double stimulation was enough to have her dripping wet and whimpering in need within moments.

Impatient now that she'd reclaimed this wonderful heat between them, she cupped his exploring hand and directed him to insert two fingers into her aching pussy instead. As he thrust the digits in and out between her clenching inner muscles, she moved her hips to his rhythm, riding his hand.

"Love you," she panted, "love this. Oh, Godric, I need more, Ral!"

His hand was gone, replaced by the jutting, hard length of his cock. "I'll give you more," he growled. Gripping her hips in a tight hold, he angled his pelvis and thrust, slamming into her hard enough to jar her senses. White-hot, blistering pleasure rock-and-rolled through her leaving her panting and trembling.

In a daze, she looked between them to watch his hard, engorged cock slide into her over and over, spreading the folds of her pussy with each forward surge of his hips.

"Oh, Ral," she whispered, awed by the feelings coursing through her.

Their eyes met and his were intense with all of the emotion he'd hidden away from her.

"I love you," he finally admitted, shuttling in and out of her body with full, complete strokes to a rhythm set to a frenzied desperation. "I have from that first day you came to me in Azkaban and listened to my side of the story. I knew then." He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. "I knew you would undo me... remake me. I knew..."

His mouth was ravenous as it took hers again, sealing his words between them with hot breath and deep feeling.

Their climax was simultaneous. They tumbled together through the brutal, delicious pleasure, holding tight to the other as tears of joy fell from Hermione's cheeks.

He loved her.

Her blood pulsed through her, making her more aware in that moment of every breath taken, every gasp escaping her lips, of how wet their combined cream between her thighs felt, and of the melting warmth filling her core. Magick rippled around them, comforting, creating a bubble of peace about them both.

The past was done with them.

There was only this and their future together from now on.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

"Why were you going to your Manor house?" she braved the question, lying sated in Ral's arms.

After their amazing session in the kitchen, he'd carried her up the stairs to their bed and had pampered her under the cool sheets with light touches and tender kisses.

Rabastan sighed. "I was going to pack up my brother's things and get rid of them. He won't need them since he's serving several lifetimes in Azkaban and won't be coming home again. I wanted those... what did you call them?... old photographs gone from our life. Oh, and I was also going to bring our family's house-elf, Winky, here to live with us. She's lonely in the Manor by herself and getting on in years. I thought we could ask her to care for the cat or something to keep her busy. She'd be paid, of course."

"That sounds like two very good ideas, actually," she admitted. "Getting rid of Rodolphus' things could be cathartic, and if we gave them away to charity, they could benefit a lot of people. As for the elf... well, I suppose Crooks could use the company once we're back at work in another week or so. And she would be paid a fair wage, so it wouldn't be an abuse to retain her services. We could also build her a little extension room at the back of the house where she could live and have her own private space so she wouldn't feel like a second-class servant."

Her husband kissed the top of her head. "Whatever you think best, darling."

She ran her fingers very gently though the dark hair on his chest. "Since you're moving your house-elf here, I need to ask you something important: what are your plans for living arrangements?"

He started and stared down at her in confusion.

"I mean, I know the rich often maintain several residences, but I was hoping" - she glanced around their small bedroom- "that maybe we could stay here. Full time. I'm sure your ancestral home is quite splendid, but... well, I'm in love with this place and the neighbourhood, and I don't want to leave it." She peeked up at him through her lashes. "This is our home, together. We're equal here, and there are no bad memories of this place to get in the way."

He stared down at her in silence for a few moments, his blue eyes as fathomless as the oceans. "I'm going to sell the Manor. The Lestranges who lived there are all gone now. Right here," he said, caressing her belly, "my family starts over."

"I like that plan," she agreed.

He smiled, kissed her, and then lazily stretched against her. "Besides, I don't want our little Typhus growing up in a big, empty, dark house. It'll ruin his disposition."

She gave him an arch look. "You want to name our son after a deadly disease? No. Try again."

His smile bloomed into a teasing grin. "How about Seymour, then? Seymour Lestrange. Get it?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Hermione pushed up onto her elbow and stared down at him with incredulity, trying not to let the giggle she was suppressing escape. "Not in this lifetime."

"Governor?" he joked, trying to make the sale sound legitimate. "It has an official ring to it. Just think someday he could be Minister Governor Lestrange, and people won't know whether to bow or scrape."

She gave a sigh of disgust and threw herself back into the mattress, crossed her arms, and gave him a sidelong look. "And what if it's a girl? Something ugly to keep away the boys, like Mathilda or Agnes, I suppose?"

He shook his head. "I have the perfect name already picked out in that case: Hysteria Nutter Lestrange, named in honour of her mum."

Laughing, she hit him with a pillow.

**...**

**_Epilogue - Five Years Later_**

Hermione hurried through the kitchen, grabbing the jam-and-buttered toast that Ral had made for her that morning and trying to juggle her satchel in the other hand. Thank goodness she'd gone with the square heels and the pantsuit today because stepping over her four-year old son's toy broom in the middle of the floor, weaving around Crooks as he regally sat at his food bowl and nibbled, and dodging to the side as her giggling three-year old daughter ran past being chased by her brother, who was being chased by Winky had tapped even her multi-tasking abilities.

Her husband sauntered into the room from the living area, watching with a bemused expression on his still-handsome, though slightly aged face as his wild children went screaming past him into the hallway.

"Before you dodge off, love," he called to her, stopping her at the door. "I have something for you."

Hidden behind his back, he pulled out and presented her a magical picture frame. It was a black, grey, and white image of her strange Lestrange family, smiling in their front yard and waving at the camera. Susan and Theo had taken the picture for them just two weeks ago, when they'd all gone to Millie and Greg's for a picnic together.

"A photograph," she murmured, smiling.

"New ones. A house full of them, and all good," he vowed, kissing her cheek. "This one's for your office. It's about time you cheered that utilitarian desk of yours."

She glanced up at her husband and smiled. "I'm a Silk. I'm not supposed to be personable at work. I'm supposed to be stern and imposing. It comes with the job."

He grinned at her. "There's my girl - claws out, formidable. I do love your spirit, kitten." He pinched her bum. "Hang it anyway. For me."

With a mock sigh, she agreed. "Yes, dear." She tucked the picture into her briefcase and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I'm off. See you tonight. Love you."

"Love you," he murmured.

Shoving the toast between her lips, rushing out the door, she headed for the Apparition point down the street from their cottage.

Her relationship with Ral had been up and down since the day she'd drawn his name from the lottery ball. Mostly, it had been good, but there were days and fights that diminished her, leaving her shaking and in tears. Her husband was a master at calling her to the carpet, and she was a mistress with a sharp tongue. Still, she felt it was well worth the fight. Learning to compromise and how to slow down had been two very hard lessons for her, but in those struggles, she'd grown as a person, maturing in ways that she hadn't expected.

When asked by Harry, or Ginny, or any of their other friends as to how she and Rabastan managed to overcome the challenges they had thus far, Hermione always replied the same: that the glue that kept her relationship with Ral sticky was based on two simple things - first, reminding herself that she _loved _him even when he infuriated her, and second, the promise they'd made to each other of 'no breaks'. After their first married couple fight, they had vowed to tough out their disagreements, even when the compulsion for one or the other was to run away. So far, that small, but significant promise had worked out well for them, as it kept them communicating. There was no running away from each other, especially with two children underfoot.

Besides, the make-up sex was always great!

"Morning, 'Mione," Susan called out as she fell into step at her side. After years of encouragement, Mrs. Nott had finally decided to come out of her shell and follow her Aunt Amelia's lead: she'd recently been handed her Wizengamot membership cap. She worked in the same Department as Hermione at the Ministry proper.

'Morning, Sue," she called back. "How was your weekend?"

The two women headed off to work, waving at Greg and Millie who were out for a stroll with their newborn. Theo came out to the fence line to greet them with his daughter, and just before Hermione turned to Disapparate, she noticed Ral and her two babies joining them, followed by Winky. Despite his advanced age, Crooks walked along the picket fence, stepping gently over the climbing roses to avoid thorns. He seemed to wag his tail at her in goodbye.

With a smile, she Apparated away.

When she arrived at her office half an hour later, the first thing she did was to find the perfect spot to hang her new photograph and decided it belonged right next to the infamous, rumpled parchment that she'd drawn from the lottery ball that fateful day five years previous. Ral's handsome features were smug with amusement as he smirked at the camera, tossing her a wink. He'd had the scroll professionally matted and framed, and had presented to her for their first anniversary.

_"Paper is traditional, remember?"_ he'd asked.

_As are photographs_, she thought as she tweaked the nose of her husband's magical image, throwing him a saucy wink of her own.

**_~FIN~_**

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**AUTHOR'S FINAL NOTES:**

**Thank you for taking this trip down a new ship for me. I hope I fulfilled my requestor's prompts for the fest, and that you enjoyed the story as well, dear readers! **

**Please review and let me know your thoughts!**


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